


20 Reasons Why

by Merawlee



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Arachnophobia, Budding Love, F/M, Fic Exchange, POV Multiple, POV Third Person Limited, Post-Hogwarts, Pranks and Practical Jokes, Suicidal Thoughts, Triggers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:24:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 21,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15342753
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merawlee/pseuds/Merawlee
Summary: It’s been two years since Voldemort attacked Hogwarts, two long agonising years since George lost the other half of himself, the days bleeding into one another, the pain never diminishing while the rest of his family slowly continued on with their lives.Then, came April Fool’s Day, their— nohisbirthday.Unable to endure such an empty life anymore, George walks out of his store intent on ending it once and for all. Never would he have imagined finding himself in a small pub instead, falling under the spell of a magic-less young woman. Well, they say that Spring is a time for new beginnings.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chellendora](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chellendora/gifts).



> This story was written for the Sunshine Fic Exchange in which the main prompt was that the setting took place in Spring or Summer.
> 
> I also had the additional prompt of _Thor Ragnarok_ from my giftee. Hopefully, I was able to incorporate it in a manner that made sense.
> 
> This story is written in British English with some very colourful Texan sayings thrown in the mix (Hopefully I will not have insulted any Texans by doing so)
> 
> Although I try my best, some mistakes/typos might have bypassed my attention and for that, I am truly sorry.

### Prologue : The One Left Behind

_Diagon Alley, London, 1 April 2000_  
  
The store was as lively and as busy as it had ever been, young wizards and witches looking through the diverse products Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes offered. April Fool’s Day was, after all, the store’s biggest day. It was enough to make a mischief lover’s heart soar, and if there was one thing George Weasley loved, it was to share his passion for pranks… No, that was no longer true. He had once loved it but not anymore. The Dark Lord had changed all of that two years ago when he had attacked Hogwarts, when the Second Wizarding War had broken out. His twin brother, Fred, had been one of the far too numerous casualties and, in his death, he had taken George’s passion with him.

Perhaps he should have closed the shop for a while as his family had urged him, to give himself proper time to grieve. But, so far, had refused to do it. Despite his own personal lack of enthusiasm, he knew the wizarding community needed the somewhat unique service he provided. Voldemort was dead, defeated once and for all, and people needed to laugh again, they needed to merrily go about their lives. What better way than through mischief and pranking. How he wished he could do the same but without Fred, there was no fun in playing jokes on people anymore…

“Excuse me. Where can I find Shimmering Silver Salt Drops?” He plastered a cheerful smile on his face and turned to the young witch. He had become adept at pretending.

“Up the stairs to the left, fifth section, third shelf,” he said, the girl giving him a timid ‘thank you’ before making her way to the high mezzanine. His smile faded as soon as her back was turned. Fred had always teased him about telling customers where to exactly find what they were looking for.

“Let them search, George,” this one had told him every single time. “That way, they discover new things and end up buying them. Honestly, what would you do without me?”

Unlike the shop, he was doing poorly without Fred. Where his family had slowly started to go on with their lives, he had barely enough energy to get up in the morning, tend to the shop and then go back to bed in the evening. An endless monotone excuse for a life. More than once he laid in bed contemplating ending it all. The pain was still as all consuming as that dreadful night. He felt uprooted, lost and so very alone. Just going through the motions of having a normal conversation was often too much. Fred had been such an integral part of himself, of his personality that his absence had left nothing but a void and today, of all days, he felt it even more keenly. It was the second birthday he would spend without his twin. Though he wanted nothing more than to just shut everything out, shut himself off to make the pain more bearable, here he was instead, tending the store as he always did.

“Hey George!” Once more plastering a smile on his face, George turned to his younger brother.

“Aw, Ickle Ronnikins the great Auror has come to grace my modest shop with his presence!” he mocked, Ron’s face turning briefly petulant before his usual somewhat goofy smile graced his lips. It was still a wonder how someone like him had caught Hermione’s attention.

“Mum wanted to know if you’re planning on closing the shop early and at what time she’ll be expecting you home. I mean, this being your birthday and all.” He resisted the urge to snarl. He knew his family’s intentions were good but they were suffocating him, their pitying gaze never failing to make him want to curse the whole lot of them. All he wanted was to be left alone!

“I don’t rightly know,” he finally answered, his hand going to rub his mangled left ear, a gift from Severus Snape on the night they had tried to confuse the Death Eaters by pretending to be Harry Potter. There had been nothing to be done, the curse used by the wizard unable to be healed, the counter curse still unknown no matter how much Hermione and his brother Bill had tried to find one. He did not mind it so much. It was a physical reminder of those dark days and, truly, the loss of an ear paled in comparison to losing Fred. Furthermore, it made it slightly more bearable for him to look in the mirror. It was a reminder that the reflection was his own and not him looking at his brother.

“Well mum’s been growing restless with you not coming to visit or even give news.”

“What are you babbling on about! I’ve talked to her last week… or was it two weeks ago?”

“Try more than a month, George. I know it’s hard but you could make more of an effort, you know! Mum’s really worried—”

“Get off my case, Ron!” he shouted heatedly. The customers all stopped and turned to watch him in shock. Even his brother seemed speechless. He briefly closed his eyes and strove to calm himself. “I’m sorry,” he added after a moment. “I’m tired and haven’t taken the time to eat. Listen, do you mind looking after things here just a few so I can go to the Leaky Cauldron and grab myself something to nosh?”

“Sure, George, I don’t mind,” his younger brother whispered with a tentative smile. Without saying anything more, he grabbed his long coat and walked out onto Diagon Alley. He had loved the store from the very moment it had opened its doors, working side by side with Fred, creating new pranks and spells, he had wanted nothing more in his life than that. He had felt complete. But now it suffocated him as much as his family. He knew they had good intention but he nevertheless felt smothered. He just wanted to wallow in peace. Why could they not understand that? Why did they try to force him to come to grips with Fred’s death?

The more he ruminated those thoughts, the more he just wanted it all to be over. It was with that frame of mind that he entered the Leaky Cauldron, the wizarding pub and inn that served as the gateway between the Muggle world and Diagon Alley.

“Ah! George! Been a while since I last saw you!” he heard Hannah Abbott call out. She had taken ownership of the inn last year… or maybe it was two years ago? George did not really remember nor did he care to. He simply walked straight across the common room looking neither left nor right. Ignoring those who called out to him, he threw the door opened and, without hesitation, stepped onto the streets of London. He did not overly think about what he was doing. He just wanted to put as much distance between himself and everything that reminded him of his twin.

His hands tucked in his coat pockets, his shoulders hunched, he resolutely made his way towards the Thames seeking peace from it all.


	2. Chapter 2

### Chapter One : Dead Man Walkin'

  
A loud scream followed by a resounding crash made the few patrons lounging in the bar momentarily look up from their drinks though none seemed inclined on going up the stairs to investigate nor reach for the old rotary phone to call the police. Indeed, such ruckus was not uncommon at the Apostasy, not when the owner, Brock Atterton, had a penchant for pulling pranks on his unsuspecting staff which unfortunately consisted only of one. What he had not counted on was the fact said lone employee could give as good as she got!

“Sam! You stupid prat!” Samantha-Jean Davis heard her boss yell. She cackled gleefully. It seemed Brock had found the little present she had left him… well, if the semblance of a hanged corpse in his office was considered a gift, that is. Well it would teach him for scaring her like that!

The stupid man had thought it jolly good fun to hide fake spiders everywhere. She suffered from an acute arachnophobia! After barely an hour into her shift — and four broken beer glasses later — she was afraid to touch anything, to _lift_ anything. She even shuddered to think what she would find in the small employee’s bathroom. She was determined not to go even if that meant drowning in her own withheld urine!

Still, she had to admit her own joke might have been a bit too much. Hopefully, she would not find herself without a job. Granted, it was April Fool’s Day and he had already thoroughly pranked her, continued to do so actually, but pretending someone had been hanged in his office was, perhaps, not the best sort of revenge. Nevertheless, Sam could not resist giggling slightly at Brock’s face when this one finally came down to the common area dragging the mannequin behind him by the rope still attached to its neck. He unceremoniously dumped it on an empty chair before sitting in his usual stool.

“Very funny, Sam,” he grumbled. “I almost shat my pants when I turned on the light to see this—this thing hanging from the ceiling.”

“Well, you sort of asked for it,” she replied while grabbing a dishcloth so she could wipe the glasses. Something dark fell on her hand, her scream shrill enough to make dogs bark in pain. Thus ended the life of the fifth beer glass today. “How many of them have you hidden, Brock?!” she asked pushing the plastic spider with the tip of her boot just to make sure it was, indeed, made of plastic before grabbing the broom.

“Not that many, honest!” he smirked. “What? You had to pay for replacing my hand soap with honey.”

“That was in retaliation to you putting vinegar in my water bottle!”

“Yeah that was a good one. The look on your face before spitting it out. Totally worth it!”

“One of these days, Atterton, I swear I’ll rope you like an overgrown calf, cover you with bacon and throw you to a pack of hungry coyotes! Just you try me!” The only answer Sam got for her threat was a deep booming laugh. It was a good thing she liked the man otherwise she would have truly roped him.

She had met Brock about ten months ago when she had stupidly decided to go backpacking across Europe. It had been supposed to be her own personal _Eat, Pray, Love_ sort of story. It ended up with _Famished, Broke, Lost in London_ disaster instead. In other words, she had not thought it through at all. Instead, she had used all her saved up money to buy a one way plane ticket. Her parents had always said she was too impulsive for her own good. How very right they had been.

At least her impulsiveness had brought her to the Apostasy, the name of the bar somehow fitting to her circumstance. She had entered looking like the kick-up puppy she had been. It had taken Brock less than five minutes to have her spill her heart out over a free pint of beer. Before the evening was gone, he had offered her the use of his sofa for the night. Now, Sam was not such a complete moron, at least she fervently hoped she was not, as such she had categorically refused his offer until he had his wife actually invite her over the phone.

She had stayed with the Attertons for three day. During that time, not only did they make it possible for her to change her tourist visa into a worker’s one by hiring her as a barmaid but had even arranged for her to sublet their daughter’s small studio apartment since this one was studying abroad. To their thinking, it was a win-win situation. She paid the rent for them and they did not have to go and clean the place. Also, for some reasons, her non-British accent actually drew more people to the bar. She was, as Brock said, a novelty.

Brock and his wife had truly restored Sam’s faith in humanity. When she had asked them how she could repay for the kindness they had shown her, a complete stranger, they had simply said to pay it forward if ever the situation arose. It was a promise Sam was intent on keeping.

She bent down to sweep up the shards of glass only to see yet another spider in the dustpan. It flew over the counter straight towards the young man walking through the door. There was no way he could duck it and yet, the impromptu projectile harmlessly dropped on the floor a mere inches from his feet. Sam did not know if she should be relieved she had not brained the guy or peeved that her throw had been, well, so very girly and lacking in power.

“Oh shoot! I’m so sorry!” she yelped rushing from behind the bar to pick up the dustpan and make sure the man was truly unarmed.

“Don’t worry. Not the first time I’ve had something fly towards me,” he replied and though he was smiling, his voice seemed devoid of mirth. He did not sound angry just defeated, lost, hurting. That was what she first noticed about him. The second thing was how very ginger he was. She had seen her fair share of redheads but this man had them all beat. He _really_ was extremely ginger! The third thing she noticed was his clothes. She was almost blinded by the colours. Either he was utterly colour blind or he strove to be a kaleidoscope on two legs. “Oh, I think this is yours. It sort of landed on my shoulder.”

Sam jumped back almost hissing like a cat at what he was trying to give her. The damn plastic spider that had been in the dustpan! Brock was laughing so hard he seemed on the verge of fainting from the lack of proper oxygen. How she wish he actually would!

“Unless you want to be smashed on your head with that dustpan, I wouldn’t try giving Sam that little thing,” this one said. The young man looked at the disgustingly realistic spider and actually smirked, his eyes briefly looking at her in mirth. This time, it seemed genuine and not strangely forced.

“You do realise it’s not real, right? I mean, look at it. It’s harmless.” There was something in his voice that actually made her look at his hand. She could have sworn the dratted thing moved but that was impossible since it was, truly, made of nothing but plastic. With a shiver, she turned and marched back to the bar.

“Just let me wash my hands and—,” she started to say but hesitated over the soap dispenser. Brock was watching her a bit too closely. She slit her eyes and stared him down before giving him her brightest smile while taking out a box of wet towelettes from under the counter.

“Paranoid much?” he asked her.

“No, not at all. I’m just trying to survive the day. I trust you as far as I can throw you,” she replied sweetly. He shook his head and got up… or at least he tried to.

“What the bloody hell?! Sam! Did you glue my seat?!” Still smiling angelically, Sam put the bottle of glue on the bar.

“Why yes, Brock, I did!”  
  
George had no idea why he had entered the small looking bar other than the fact something had drawn him in, diverting him from going to the London Bridge. Perhaps it had been the name, The Apostasy. He had no idea what it meant but, for some strange reason, it resonated with him. Maybe it was the fact it did not sound peculiarly Muggle-ish though he was most assuredly the only wizard present. Good thing he had the presence of mind to have kept his hand in his pocket where his wand was tucked otherwise he would not have been able to stop the dustpan from hitting him.

Still, now that he was inside, he wondered why he was not simply running away. Granted, he never truly had interactions with Muggles but these ones seemed, for lack of a better term, to belong at St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries!

“You know Amelia is going to be mad if I end up ripping the seat of my trousers, don’t you?” the older man grumbled making the young woman’s smile grow even more devious.

“Who do you think gave me the idea? Oh, come on, Brock! Don’t look so surprised! She’s been married to you for over twenty years now. I’ve known you less than a year and already you’ve pranked me more in that time than all of my life back home and I have three brothers! I shudder to think what Amelia went through!”

George had wanted peace from his agonising thoughts, not to be thrown into even more chaos than could be found back at the shop. As such, he was slowly inching back towards the door when the young woman turned her attention back to him. He froze like a Bowtruckle. His reaction was ridiculous. He was a wizard while she was nothing more than a Muggle and yet there was something about her that set his heart pacing madly.

“Well, don’t you just stand there in the shadow of your mama’s apron! Come sit down and have a drink!”

What in the world was she babbling on about? His mother was not here and he certainly would not hide in her apron! Did Muggles have their own sort of dialect only understandable to others of their kind? No, he had met people who had been born to non-magical families, Hermione being one of them, and they all made sense most of the times. Perhaps it was a regional thing. The young woman did not sound at all like she was from here. He really should leave but the smile she gave him was his undoing, his feet taking him to the bar without much guidance from his head. Still, he hesitated before sitting down, his gaze looking at what was on the stool next to him, mainly a mannequin with a rope around its neck.

“Don’t mind him. He gave up his guitar for a harp. Still, he’s a good listener. Never interrupts when you talk to him. He is a bit stiff though,” she said with a giggle. George understood barely half of what she was saying. “So! What’s your pleasure?” He missed the stool and would have ended up on the floor had he not grabbed onto the bar like a scared First Year on his broomstick during the first Broom Flight Class.

“I’m sorry but… what?!” he asked. He was not ignorant of flirting, quite the contrary. Being a Beater with the Gryffindor Quidditch team during his time at Hogwarts had come with some benefits. The same could be said with being the owner of a very successful business. Still, he and Fred had always been too busy pulling pranks, being mischievous, and inventing new spells or tricks to really be interested.

“Well look at you being all shy as a mail-order bride, and all I did was ask you what you wanted to drink,” she explained, her laughter light and good humoured. His heart thudded hard in his chest. He finally sat down just as a loud _riiiiip_ sound was heard. For a moment, he was sure it had been him but then, the old man swore before chuckling in a defeated manner.

“I think you may have put a bit too much glue on, Sam. I’ll have to go back home and change. You’re good on your own here?” The girl looked sheepish.

“I’ll be fine, no worries, and I’m sorry, Brock. I just wanted to get back at you, is all. I’ll pay for the repairs on your pants though or, at the very least, do it myself. I am a wizard at sewing.”

“It’s fine, kiddo, don’t worry about it. I might just take the opportunity to go out for supper with the wife. Don’t forget to set up the alarm when you close, alright?”

“Will do. Have fun!”

“A witch,” George found himself correcting her after a few minutes of internal debate. She turned her gaze to him, her eyebrow cocked inquisitively. “I mean, wizards are male so you’d be a witch at sewing,” he lamely explained.

He could feel his face flush up while she continued to stare at him in silence. He had not noticed before how very blue her eyes were, the centre of the iris paler than the outer ring. Her gaze shifted slightly to the left and though he knew his mangled ear was visible, she did not recoil from the sight. Actually, her expression did not change in the least nor did the warmth of her smile diminish.

“How about a beer?” she asked. “On the house.” Before he could say one thing, she put a cold bottle in front of him with a tall glass and turned her attention to the rest of the patrons. “Now with the boss gone, all y’all better behave. Don’t be fooled by my looks! I may be frying size but I’m tough as stewed skunk—EEEEK!!!”

Her scream was so loud he was sure she had cast Sonorus on herself. He quickly bent to the side as a long metallic glass, and what appeared to be another spider toy, larger than the one she had previously throw to his face, flew over the bar missing his head by an inch. It was a good thing his reflex from being a Beater were still sharp otherwise he would have gotten brained by it. Unlike the time with the dustpan, his hand was not in his pocket where his wand was so he would not have had time to stop it.

“Do you throw things at everyone or am I special?” he asked with a chuckle. He had not felt this lighthearted since before the attack on Hogwarts. He turned to the seat next to him to share the joke with— No one was there other than the unexplained mannequin. Why was it that after almost two years, he still had a tendency to forget that Fred was dead? Why did he still act like he was right there, beside him? When would he stop having that ingrained reaction?

All the mirth leached out of him, his shoulders drooping. Once more, the insidious thoughts crawled out of their shadowy recess. Why continue on? Without Fred at his side, what was the point? A hand delicately grabbed his.

“I’m sorry,” he heard the girl whisper. “You must think I’m downright crazy as a bullbat.” He lifted his gaze, her warm smile making his own lips tug at the corner.

“Maybe not crazy but definitely odd,” he answered. That made her laugh.

“Now where are my manners? Here I am chucking things at your head without so much as a howdy-do! I’m Samantha-Jean Davis but most people call me Sam.”

“George Weasley.” For a brief moment, her fingers tightened around his before releasing them. “I can’t help but notice that you’re not from here.” Fred would have been laughing himself silly on the floor with that poor excuse of an attempt at small talk. Although they had been twins and indistinguishable to everyone, George lacked the sheer self-assurance his brother had possessed. After all, this one had once asked Angelina to the yule ball during the Triwizard Tournament quite on the drop of a hat without so much as a ‘howdy-do’, whatever that meant.

“What? You mean I don’t sound British?! Well shoot! I’ve been exposed as the fraud that I am!” Her laughter was contagious for he chuckled, the weight that dragged him down lifting slightly. She crossed her arms on top of the bar and bent slightly towards him, her dark blond ponytail falling over her left shoulder. “I’m from Cisco in Texas. My family has got a farm there.”

“Texas,” he mused trying to remember where it was. He actually did not have one damn clue. The best thing was to stay vague about it all. “That’s quite a long way from here.” Hopefully it was.

“Yeah and the story of why I’m here is an even longer one,” she replied with an embarrassed snort. It was his turn to rest his crossed arms on the bar.

“I’m not going anywhere.” That made her laugh though it had an hesitant sound to it.

Maybe it was a trick of the light but George could have sworn she blushed. It had been a while since he had elicited such reaction in a girl. Mostly, his attention was met with paranoia as if they expected to be cursed, pranked, or a combination of the two. It was refreshing to see none in her face which was, he had to admit, more than comely. He had known breathtaking women, Fleur, his brother’s wife, easily came to mind but where his sister-in-law was stop breathing gorgeous due to her Veela ancestry, Sam’s charm felt natural, almost pure devoid as it was of any any magical artifice or glamour. At least it was until she smiled. When she did, she could rival a Veela, or at least he thought so. She was captivating and so very different than everyone he knew.

“I ain’t too sure I want to be telling it. You’ll end up thinking that I’m not only odd but that I don’t have enough sense to spit downwind on top of it,” she finally said, her gaze flitting everywhere as if she was embarrassed.

“I promise that I won’t,” he reassured while wondering why one would spit at the winds no matter which side it blew. “Go on, then. I’m all ears… well kind of since I’m pretty much missing one.” That seemed to cinch it for she giggled before smiling brightly.

Once again, his heart thudded strangely in his chest. If he did not know better, he would have said that Sam had used a love potion from his shop but he disregarded the thought as soon as it formed. She was a Muggle and knew nothing about such spells. Nevertheless, he took a quick sniff of his beer. One could not be too careful after all.

“Well you know how some books and movies show young people backpacking across Europe? How so easily they make it seem, full of adventures and good times?” she asked.

He slowly nodded his head despite the fact he had no idea what she was talking about, and took a sip of his beer. He almost spit it right back out. It did not taste like butterbeer at all! What sort of awful brew did Muggles drink?!

“Well, I was stupid enough to believe it was that easy. So, I bought a plane ticket, got here and realised I actually needed money to, you know, survive. Since I only had enough savings to buy a one way ticket, I was sort of stuck here. Still am as a matter of fact,” she added, her smile still good-humoured despite the predicament she found herself in. George was in awe of her carefree ways. Some people would have turned pessimistic but not Sam it seemed.

“Can’t your family send you the money to get back home?” he asked. Naturally, Apparate came to mind but he knew cross-continental Apparition were extremely dangerous due to the high risk of splinching and, well, death. The other solution for a Muggle would be a portkey, but even if he was the Minister of Magic he would not be able to pull enough strings to have one made for Sam because of the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.

“They don’t have that sort of cash lying around. We’re not exactly rich,” she explained. She did not seem to be ashamed of that, only stating a fact. George understood what it was to struggle, the Weasleys never having been rich themselves until he and Fred had opened the shop. “Plus my parents thought it would be a good way for me to learn to curb my impetuous nature. They can turn _anything_ into some sort of life lesson, I swear! Nearly drowned when I was four because I refused to wear my water wings? Life lesson! Break an arm falling from the monkey bars? Life lesson! Rushed to the hospital after being kicked in the head by a horse? Life lesson! Got arrested for pushing a groping guy out of a moving vehicle? Life lesson! Got stranded in London with no money and no way back home? Life lesson! If I ended up dead, I’m sure they’d open my casket so they could tell me death is a good life lesson.”

“Seems a bit drastic for a life lesson,” he mumbled. His parents would have literally moved the Earth around to help him if the position were reversed. He had treated them badly these last two years by wallowing in his own pain without sparing a thought to theirs.

“I’m resilient and they know it. I always seem to be able to get out of the jam I’m in,” she laughed, shrugging her shoulders in a nonplussed manner. “Like now, for example. Sure, I can’t get back home but thanks to Brock, I have a legal working visa, a job and a small studio I’m sub-renting. He gives me a portion of my pay for the bills and food, and keeps the rest aside until there is enough to buy myself a ticket back home.”

“Are all Mugg— girls in Texas like you?” he asked with a shake of his head.

“What you mean?”

“Well, I mean you don’t let that get you down. Here you are, joking and smiling and generally being happy when most people would be lamenting their situation.” The soft slap she gave him on the shoulder took him quite by surprise.

“Well now that’s silly! Why would I get all depressed? Sure it didn’t go the way I planned it but hey, it’s an adventure nonetheless! Plus, I get to meet interesting people.” He felt his entire face flush by how unflinching her gaze was. He wondered if it was a slight hint that she found him interesting. Granted he and Fred had had some success with witches but, if he was honest, none of them had looked like Sam. Girls like her usually were not drawn to guys like them… like him. Thinking in the singular was still so very hard.  
  
Sam was at a loss. She did not know what she had said to put such a look of misery on the young man’s face. She much preferred him when he was genuinely smiling. It made him look impish and mischievous in some ways. She was not a flirt by nature having had more than her fair share of unwanted male attention even here in London, but George Weasley with his very ginger short hair, dark eyes, and odd quirky looks was definitely her type. He was so very different from the cowboys, jocks, and general jackasses overpopulating Texas.

“Well listen to me yap away like a dog at a coon!” she laughed pushing her stupid ponytail off her shoulder once more. “Your turn.” He lifted his gaze to her and cocked an eyebrow. Her heart fluttered.

“My turn to what?” he asked.

“To tell me about yourself, silly!” He went from looking surprised to perplexed and finally strangely nervous. He was so charming!

“I was raised in Ottery St Catchpole—”

“Ottery Saint what now?” she interrupted, bringing a hand over her mouth in a failed attempt to hide her giggle. He chuckled in companionship.

“Yeah, you heard correctly. Awful name for a place. I come from a big family, five brothers and a sister…” There it was again, that look of agony that seemed to leech out of him. She gently grabbed his hand.

“Hey, you want to talk about it?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. At first, he did nothing but then, very slowly, his fingers closed around hers.

“I—I lost a brother two years ago. My twin actually.” Her heart went out to him. She had to resist the urge to envelop him in her arms and hold him tightly. She had always been an empathic person but her reaction to his pain was surprising her.

“An accident?” He hesitated before slowly nodding. George appeared to be around her age, give or take a year or two. That meant his brother had died quite young. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Fred was my other half.” He stopped and took a shaking breath. “We did everything together. He was my partner in crime, my best friend, my confident. We complemented one another so much that we actually either finished each other’s sentences or talked in perfect unison. Sometimes we did both in one conversation.” Sam watched him shake his head sadly before taking a sip of his beer. The face he made was so damn cute.

“Oh my! I don’t think you quite like beer,” she laughed. She was offering him a way out of a conversation he perhaps was not ready to have. George hooked on it like a catfish on a piece of corn

“I find it too bitter for my taste. I’m used to something much sweeter.”

“Why didn’t you tell me before? Don’t force yourself to drink something you don’t like, honey. I can do sweet if that’s what you’ll have,” she drawled with a wink and her brightest smile. “I’m fixin’ to make something I sure hope you’ll find tasty.”

After giving his hand a last gentle squeeze, she turned to the display of bottles behind her. With a hand on her hip she considered her options. Naturally, she was not an expert at mixology which was a good thing most of the people coming to the Apostasy preferred beer to anything else. Still, she would not be a vibrant, adventurous Texan girl if she did not know some drinks. She had the perfect one for George.

Equal parts of Jägermeister, cranberry juice and Peach Schnapps later, she put the glass in front of him with a smile.

“There you go. Give this a try,” she said resting her forearms once more on the bar. Seeing him hesitate slightly, she cocked an eyebrow. “Don’t you be afraid! I’ve got no reasons to trick you so you’re safe. I only seek revenge on those who prank me.”

“I could take that as a challenge,” he replied. “I’m not above a good prank or two or a thousand.”

Sam bent forward bringing her face close to his and gave him her sweetest of smiles.

“I’d love to see you try,” she whispered. “I may look sweeter than baby’s breath but I’ll snatch you bald-headed without a second though so don’t raise up more snakes than you can kill.” He bent forward himself until their faces were only a breath apart.

“I’m very proficient at killing snakes.” Her heart flip-flopped in her chest faster than an acrobat. He seemed to have a devious side to him. She found it truly irresistible, so much so she had to remind herself once more that a short fling would not be the best of things. She gave him a teasing slap on his shoulder and stood straighter.

“Cheers,” she said lifting his almost untouched beer. No need to waste a good one. Back home she would not have been allowed to drink since she was only 19 years old but in good old England, she was of age. George raised his glass and took a sip.

“Hey, that’s good!”

“I’m glad you like it. It’s a Readheaded Slu— A Redhead. That’s what the drink is called. I thought it quite appropriate!” she laughed hoping he had not caught on. The drink was actually called a Redheaded Slut but he really did not need to know that.

Hearing the door open, Sam looked up, the smile vanishing at seeing the man strut in. She did not remember his name, had not even tried memorising it, really. He was a pain in the ass, one who did not seem to know the meaning of the word ‘no’. Why did he have to come when Brock was out? Usually her boss acted as a buffer between herself and the creep. Still, no matter what, he was a paying customer and the Apostasy was not in a position to refuse patronage.

“What can I get you?”

“A beer and you in my bed,” he said giving her a leering smile. She resisted the urge to roll her eyes and turned to get a clean beer glass. At least she tried to but he had quickly grabbed her hand. In any normal circumstances she would have ripped his face off but he was a paying customer and she really did not want to lose her job nor disappoint Brock, not after all he and his wife had done for her. “I’d make you feel good so stop being such a damn tease.”

A more than curt reply was on Sam’s lips but before she could utter it and kiss her job goodbye, she heard a strange coughing mumble from George. Thinking he was choking on his drink, she turned her gaze to him only to see this one oddly stare at the creep still holding her hand. She hated the fact he was seeing her in such a situation.

With a hiss, she wrenched her hand free and waited for the flak the man would throw her way. Strangely, he did nothing more than blink, his gaze unfocused. Without so much as a goodbye, he got up and unsteadily walked out the door. What in sweet damn hell had just happened?!  
  
George discreetly took his hand out of his pocket. He was caught between smiling and swearing. He had really not liked the way the man had been with Sam, so much so that he had almost used something nastier than the Confundus Charm but it was illegal to curse Muggles. He was surprise someone from the Ministry of Magic had not appeared as soon as his fingers had grabbed his wand.

He had to admit it had been a gamble especially since he had had to mumble the incantation. It would have looked queer in the extreme to have him shout _‘Confundo!’_ Naturally, he was able to use nonverbal incantations but he did not always have success with them quite unlike Fred. His brother had been more proficient in that department while he had been the creative force behind many of their products’ inventions.

“You alright?” he asked when Sam came back to stand in front of him. Though she was smiling, he still could see how it had unnerved her. He remembered her saying something about pushing a groping guy out of a vehicle. He wished he had been there that time too.

“Oh don’t you worry, honey, I’m peachy!” she said in a drawling accent of hers he was finding more and more charming.

He raised his glass and took a sip. It was really good. He was sure it would be a success in the Wizarding community. Perhaps he should talk to Hannah Abbot about it. Then again, the ex-Hufflepuff would probably call it the Weasleys instead of the Redhead.

“So! What do you do? Are you still in school?”

“No, I didn’t really finish school,” he slowly said. He had to be careful not to divulge too much. It was so hard to remember that Sam was not a witch so much he felt a connection with her. “I actually own a shop.”

“Oh! What sort of shop?”

“Mostly prank… things,” he tried to explain hoping she would not ask for more information. He did not know how he would be able to describe the various products without revealing the fact they were magical in nature.

“Hey that’s cool! I love those sort of shops. In case you didn’t figure out, I’m not above pranking someone good. Well, usually Brock but it’s totally for self-defence!” she said with a bright smile. George’s heartbeat accelerated for a brief moment. Who would have thought that a girl as good looking as Sam was into the same things as him, well up to a certain point, naturally. “Where is it located? I might just come by one day and look at what you’re selling.”

“Diago—nalley!” he babbled.

“Erm… did you say ‘diagonally’?” she wondered with a slight cocked eyebrow.

“No, I said Diagon Alley. It’s a very small street. Many overlook it, really,” he lamely said.

There was no way for her to find it since one had to go through the Leaky Cauldron, not to mention it had strong Anti-Muggle charms. He tried not to think about bringing her there himself. He was a wizard, she was a Muggle. He was forever scarred, she was beautiful. He was barely able to function most of the time since Fred’s death, she was all smiles and sunshine. They truly had nothing in common and yet she reminded him of how he had been before the war, before his life had drastically changed. She made him yearn to be that sort of person once more. She made him think that, perhaps, he would be able to with her at his side. But still, he was a wizard and she a Muggle.

That was one obstacle that was almost impossible to overcome.

“Most days I want to kill myself,” he suddenly blurted. George did not know why he had said it. Perhaps he wanted to let Sam know how very much broken he was inside despite what he showed. Or maybe it was to scare her away, to snuff out the interest she seemingly had for him. After all, he should not have the thoughts he was having concerning her, not when his brother was dead and, as such, would never have the opportunity to have similar thoughts concerning a girl.

“Hey,” Sam whispered but he refused to look up from the drink he was tightly clutching. “Pick a number, any number.” That was so unexpected that his head snapped up. She was smiling gently at him.

“Twenty,” he mumbled, the age at which Fred had died, the age he had lost his brother.

“Then find yourself twenty reasons to get up in the morning; twenty reasons to not take your life.” She briefly grabbed his hand. “You’ll see that there’s more to live for no matter how much the pain seems all consuming some days.”

“Well, there’s my parents,” he started to say but she shook her head.

“Oh, honey. Those reasons are your own. You certainly don’t need to share them as I’m sure some are very personal.” She was right but it was so very easy to talk to her. Still, some of his reasons would be odd to her so he nodded. “I’ve got some work that needs to be done. If there’s anything, just give me a holler.”

George turned his attention back to his drink. He had not paid for it, Sam having offered it free of charge. She was truly a kind girl. He had money to pay just not Muggle money. He had had no reasons to stop at Gringotts to have his current currency changed. After all, he had not planned on going anywhere other than the bridge. He had certainly not thought he would find himself sitting in a pub for most of the day ruminating what a young Texan Muggle girl had told him.

Twenty reasons… he could barely think of one right now.

Unable to concentrate on finding any, his thoughts scattered in his mind, he turned his attention to Sam. Gazing at her calmed his turbulent emotions in a way nothing else had yet achieved. He was content merely watching her work. He had not noticed before how her loose blue shirt with red flowers motifs around the neckline complimented her eyes, a strange leather cord tied around her slender neck. She had a spring to her step, her blond ponytail moving with her ever move. He rested his chin on his hand, his lips lifting in a smile at seeing her swing to the sound of the soft music while drying various glasses.

As if sensing his stare, she turned her gaze towards him. The smile on her lips warmed him to his very core. Though she looked sweeter than butterbeer, he knew she had a mischievous streak in her. One only had to look at the mannequin sitting in the chair beside him. He could not help but think about all the high jinks they both could get into. Fred would have loved her.

George took out the small inoffensive toy spider from his pocket. He wondered if her pranks were reserved only for her boss. He finished his drink and, while Sam had her back turned, he dropped the thing in his now empty glass. Hopefully she would not end up hating him nor throw the glass at his head. He put a hand in his pocket, his fingers brushing against his wand just in case.

“Finished? You want another one?” she asked picking the glass up only to drop it with a scream. “Oh you—you mangy cur!” she growled. The smile tugging at her lips, though, belied her peeved state. “That was a dirty trick!”

“Well, it is April Fool’s Day,” he simply replied. “Actually, it’s our—my birthday.” The threat of repercussion seemed to melt out of her to be replaced with a bright grin.

“Well why didn’t you tell me before, honey! Happy Birthday!” He had no time to react as she lithely bent over the bar and lightly kissed his cheek. He almost touched the still tingling skin while she busied herself on the counter behind the bar. “Here, it’s not much but still. Sorry though, I don’t have any candles,” she said putting a plate with a small piece of cake in front of him. It looked like chocolate with berry jam drizzled over it.

“Thanks,” he said taking a bite out of the cake. His eyes went completely round as his mouth exploded in fire. What sorts of berry had she used?!

“Too much hot sauce?” she asked sweetly. “Come on, honey. If you want to play with me you’ve got to expect to get singed.” The little minx had pranked him back without even batting an eye nor missing a beat. She was good! He lifted his fork in a mock salute and continued to eat the cake, his eyes watering from the heat of this ‘hot sauce’ she had mentioned.


	3. Chapter 3

### Chapter Two : A Kind Of Magic

  
It was soon time to close the pub and, with every passing hours, it was evident Brock was truly not coming back. Despite him having said it, she knew he could be such a mother-hen when he wanted so she would not have been surprised if he had found a reason to come back before the end of the evening. She was glad. Her boss needed some off time and it was not like closing the bar was all that difficult. Basically, all she had to do was make sure everyone left, that the cash register balanced, and that everything was primed and ready for Monday. It was a good thing the Apostasy was not crowded. It was a small pub whose clientele were mostly comprised of faithful patrons.

Her gaze kept straying to where George silently sat while she put away the glasses. She wondered why he was not celebrating his birthday with his family. If the position were reversed, if she had lost a brother, she would have wanted nothing more than to be with her family but everyone was different. It was not her place to tell him what to do, far from it.

Still, she did not mind having him here, had even continued to offer him libation free of charge just to keep him at the bar. He was generally a great guy. Well, except for the trick he had pulled on her with the spider! That had been rotten! However, she had gotten him back and, like Brock, he had not reacted badly to her pranking him. In that aspect he was different than every other guys she had known and dated.

Noticing the time, Sam flicked the lights on, those still sitting in the pub grumbling at being blinded but all she did was face them with her hands on her hips.

“Now, now! All y’all know it’s almost closing time so either you order one last drink or you shuffle out!” she barked thus unleashing all drunken hell as they rushed to order one last pint. There went her recently cleaned glasses. “Do you want anything, honey?” she asked George while pouring beer like her life depended upon it.

“No, I’m fine. The last drink went a bit to my head, I think,” he said with a chuckle.

“What about a cup of tea or perhaps a coffee?” He gave her a horrified look. “Alright! I get it! Y’all really don’t like coffee! So tea it is. Let me guess, you put milk and sugar in it. I swear y’all are weird!”

Once the pacified drunks had their last beer, Sam walked around the bar and sat beside George, putting his cup of tea in front of him. He took a sip and smiled that crooked smile she had come to like so much in the last few hours.

“It’s good, thanks.” She bowed her head briefly. Her hand hesitated for a moment but then lightly rested on his forearm.

“George? Do you have a place to go to tonight?” she asked with some hesitation. She did not want to assume but since he had preferred spending almost the entire day at the pub she could not help but think it was because he could not or did not want to go back home.

 _“Most days I want to kill myself,”_ she remembered him saying a few hours ago. She could not in good conscience let him wander off alone at night.

“Maybe I can call someone for you?” He slowly shook his head, his eyes cast down. She came to a decision trying her best to convince herself it was merely to make sure he would not do anything drastic and not because she wanted to spend more time with him. “Listen, my apartment isn’t too far from here. It’s small but there’s a couch. You’re more than welcomed to it if you want.” That made him sharply turn his head to look at her. “No more spiders though!” she quickly added to hide her reaction at having him gaze at her with such intensity. She hoped he was not able to hear how loud her heartbeat was.

“I promise. No spiders,” he finally chuckled in reply. “And, Sam? Thanks.” She gave his forearm a light squeeze.

“Take your time finishing your tea. I have to fully close the bar before we can leave.”

  


  
“Good night! Thanks for your patronage and please all y’all be careful getting back home!” George heard Sam say as the last of the remaining men walked out of the pub, many on unsteady feet. Though he more than felt the weight of the stares some threw his way, he nevertheless resolutely did not turn. They could very well think whatever it was Muggle men thought, he cared not.

Was he doing the right thing? Was he not just taking advantage of Sam’s generous nature? It was not like he could not simply go back home. Granted Ron was probably waiting for him after the way he had dumped the shop on him. Still it was not the threat of his younger brother that had made him decide to follow Sam but the fact he truly was reluctant in leaving her. There was no rhyme or reason to his conflicting emotions. All he knew was that he had never met a girl like her and he was not willing to simply walk away, to go back to his drab wizarding life, to never see her again.

“Hey! Earth to George!” A slight slap on his shoulder made him turn his attention from his empty tea cup. He became almost lost in her blue eyes. “Are you finished cause if so, I’m fixin’ to wash the cup.” He merely nodded his head not truly trusting his voice. “I swear I feel like I was rode hard and put away wet!”

“Ex—Excuse me?!” he almost squealed, his face becoming so hot he was sure he had eaten a pepper imp sweet. It was a wonder fire did not shoot from his mouth.

“I keep forgetting y’all speak a different English. It’s an expression from back home. We usually say that when we’re tired or something similar.” She gave him a teasing wink. “What did you think I meant?”

It was a trap! There was no way he was going to answer that and not burn down to ashes from mortification. There had not been much he and his brother had been sheepish about but to tell a girl like Sam that he thought she had meant something sexual was proving to be too much even for someone like him.

“Anything I can help with?” he asked in a voice he hoped was nonchalant tough it did sound a bit too much on the shrilly side for his taste.

“Well I wouldn’t mind you putting the chairs on the tables and sweep the floor while I finish drying the glasses and make sure the cash register balances and the money is stored in the safe upstairs.”

He was more than eager in helping out but he was not too sure he knew how to sweep floors the Muggle way so he opted for the manner he was used to. He put the chairs on the tables and waited for Sam to go up the stairs. As soon as she was out of view, he took his wand out and quickly cleaned the floors.

“Wow! I’ve never seen them so clean! You must be a champion at sweeping, honey!” she joked when she came back down a few minutes later holding a coat in her hand. “Now just go outside while I activate the security.”

He stepped out of the bar. Despite the early spring, the temperature was enjoyable, the air crisp without being too chilling. He had forgotten how much he loved being out during nighttime. The nightly mischiefs he and Fred had concocted back in their days at Hogwarts, the thrills of never getting caught thanks to the Marauder’s Map. Their numerous adventures were some of his best memories.

“Well now! You should smile like that more often, honey,” he heard Sam say as she joined him outside. “It gives you an impish look. I quite approve.” She gave him a saucy wink. He felt himself blush, something he had done more in one evening than all of his life. He had not had much reasons to smile, at least not genuinely, since Fred’s death but being with Sam seemed to make the pain less sharp. It was still present, would probably always be, but it was not as all consuming. Being with her just made smiling easy.

Why was she, a Muggle, able to get past the thick shell he had built around himself? She was more than pleasing to the eyes, there was no doubt about that, but there was something more than just a physical attraction. He remembered the way she had gotten him back for the small prank he had pulled. He could not remember the last time someone had been able to take him by surprise as she had, not even Fred had been able to. It only made him want to prank her even more. His smile deepened. As if she was a Legilimen, she cocked an eyebrow giving him a daring look.

“Best be warned, George Weasley, if you think of playing any sort of tricks on me, I’ll retaliate and, honey, you’ve got no idea how devious I can get.” He took a step closer to her.

“I’ve never been able to resist a good dare, Samantha-Jean Davis. You’re the one who has no idea how much of a prankster I truly am,” he replied. She took a step closer herself until they were standing so near one another their bodies almost touched, her head tilted back slightly so she could gaze into his eyes.

“You talk the talk but can you walk the walk?” He had no idea what she was talking about. Actually, he had difficulty forming a proper thought.

She was standing so close. If he bent his head down just a bit… His heart rammed against his ribcage, his breath getting stuck in his throat. He saw her blink slightly, her eyes briefly drifting to his lips. Time seemed to slow down to a crawl. They were caught in this strange moment until the blinding lights of a car driving past shattered it.

“Come on. I don’t live far,” she chuckled, the sound holding a strained note to it. She took a few steps back and shrugged into the coat she had brought out. “It’s cold as a frosted frog. I don’t know how y’all do going about in such frigid temperature.”

“What? It’s not cold at all! It’s actually quite nice outside,” he said glad to have something else to think about than the fact he had been so very close to actually kiss her.

“You’re joking, right? Honey, I’m used to high 70s temperature at this time of the year. It must be barely in the 40s right now so believe me, it’s darn cold!” He would have offered her his coat but two things prevented him from doing so. The first was the fact his wand was tucked in the pocket of it. The second was how she had suddenly linked her arm with his, their sides brushing. Once more, his mind went blank.

  


  
“Like I said, the place ain’t all that big. Actually, it’s darn tiny but it overlooks the Thames which is real pretty at night. Plus it’s quiet enough. I mean, sure I grew up on a farm so I ain’t citified at all but I always thought big cities like London were constantly as noisy at two skeletons dancing on a tin roof and in a way they are but not like I had imagined, you know?”

Sam knew she was talking ten words a second with gusts to fifty but she could not help herself. The tension that had appeared between them in front of the bar had shaken her up more than she cared to admit. To say she was very attracted to George was an understatement and she was far from being a shy virgin but he had gone through enough without getting entangled with someone who would eventually leave the country for good. A good romp in bed was one thing but she had the nagging thought it would be much more than that with him. It was best if she just kept things casual between them and mentally trying to force him to kiss her as she had been attempting to do back then was anything but being casual. Naturally, the fact he had seemed inclined on doing just that did not help much.

“Even though I grew up in the countryside our house was always so very noisy. Granted it was mainly because of Fred and I though. Our parents always said the house was too silent when we were away at school and yet, a few days back home and our mum would complain of the noise,” he chuckled.

“Wait… are you telling me that you didn’t live with your folk while you were in school?” she enquired.

“All students attending school lived there. Some went back home for Christmas but other than that, we stayed at school until the end of the school year. Why? Isn’t the same where you live?”

“No! Wow! Students alone without parental supervision. Must have been a constant Spring Break!”

By the odd look he gave her, Sam realised she had completely lost him once more. She had always known customs differed from one country to the next but she had never thought things were so vastly dissimilar. It was strange, really. She had extensively researched Europe before getting into her dumb blond head to go backpacking across it, and nowhere had she read about such discrepancies between the USA and the UK. It was almost as if George came from a whole different country.

“What was your favourite subject? Mine was History,” she asked.

“Defen—,” he barely replied before stopping. Peeking at him from the corner of her eyes, she saw him frown.

“Ok… Erm… What about sport? We’re big fans of football, sometimes maybe a bit too much.”

“Easy! Quiddi—shit.”

“Bless you?” Sam had no idea what that word was so she said the first thing that came to mind.

“I meant to say Quidditch. It’s… well that is to say… it’s a sport with balls, yeah balls and hoops… and… yeah.” He was so cute babbling the way he was.

“Balls and hoops? So kinda like basketball, I gather?” she asked. He merely shrugged in answer. It was obvious he was uncomfortable with her line of questions, though she did not understand why it was so. As such, she thought best to drop the entire subject.

They walked in silence until they reached her apartment. Sam had to admit that, despite the awkwardness that had settled between them after her failed attempt on getting to know him better, walking with him by her side, having her arm linked with his, felt strangely right. Bringing him to her place was so not a good idea!

“Well, here we are. Like I said, it ain’t much but the view from the balcony is great. I was lucky I was able to sublet this apartment, really. I don’t know what I would have done without Brock. You see, this is his daughter’s place but she’s away in Germany for a while so… yeah.”

She was babbling once again. She was convinced George thought she was completely wacky. She would not have blamed him if he had decided to turn back and leave. It was rare for her to get so worked up. She was not too sure she liked it.

“It’s a nice place,” he reassured her. His smile made her knees twitch. She shrugged out of her coat and hung it in the entrance closet instead of just throwing it on the sofa as she usually did. She was so glad she had taken the time to clean the place up. In all honesty, all she had done was pick up her strewn clothes so she could wash them. Something she had not yet done. The last thing she wanted was to have George find a bra tucked between the sofa’s cushions. Still, it would have been fun to see his reaction to her preferred style of underwear, flimsy and not covering much.

Her mind, devious thing that it was, started to come up with plans on stashing her bras and thongs everywhere the very moment he went to the bathroom. Naturally, that made her wonder what sort of underwear he wore. Was he a brief or a boxer sort of guy? His clothes were on the colourful side, to put it mildly. Were the rest of his clothes just as flashy? She had to reign in her wild imagination. The last thing she wanted was to start picturing him butt naked. She had truly been celibate for too long. Darn her conscience!

“Well, just make yourself comfy while I jump real quick in the shower. After a whole day at the bar, I just itch to scrub the smell out of my skin.” She grabbed the nearest clean clothes she could get her hands on and walked to the bathroom. “If you’re hungry, there’s some leftover pasta in the fridge. Just pop it in the microwave.”

She closed the door behind her and rested her back upon it. This was going to be one long night!  
  
George was amazed how, contrary to them, Muggles’ places looked big on the outside but were truly small inside. He wondered where they converted the rest of the space. He was standing in what appeared to be the only room. He could see the sofa on one side, a tiny round table with two stools tucked against a large glass wall beside it. On the left, a half wall with what he guessed were the strange things Muggle used to make food. Finally, the last wall featured nothing but a large empty bookcase. No bed to be seen nowhere.

He turned his gaze once more to the sofa. It was not going to be big enough for the both of them to sleep on it. It was not a good thing to think about, not when he could clearly hear Sam take her shower. It was not something he needed to think about, not if he wanted to keep his composure.

Needing to occupy his mind with anything but the dratted sounds coming from the washroom, he walked, more like took five steps, to where the small counter was with its strange things scattered on it and frowned. He was actually famished but he had no idea how to proceed with the actual food gathering. What the hell was a microwave and how did one use it to warm something? He did not even know what it looked like. Actually, there was not much here he was familiar with. His father would have been overjoyed while he simply felt even more out of place.

What was he even doing here? Granted, Sam made him feel more alive than he had since that dreadful night but they had nothing in common, her questions had driven that point clearly. They belonged to different worlds. He should have gone back to his place, that damn place where everything was a reminder of his brother. He rubbed his hand over his face while sighing softly.

“Hey, you alright, honey?”

He jumped slightly. He had not heard her come out of the washroom. He was about to tell her that he was fine but he had the misfortune to turn to face her. He lost all ability to speak, his tongue having become glued to the roof of his mouth as effectively as if he had eaten one of Hagrid’s treacle fudge. All George could do was stand there and look at her. By how hot his face felt, he knew he was, once again, blushing madly and though he knew he should avert his gaze, he nevertheless could not stop from letting his eyes rove over her body. What in sweet Merlin’s beard was she wearing?! What sort of Muggle magic had she been able to weave?!

Sam laughed, the sound of it making him swallow hard. She spread her arms wide and did a quick turn on herself. He did _not_ need to see her backside! He had to think of anything but what she was wearing otherwise he would no longer be able to hide how very much she affected him. Too bad there was no spells to prevent such a thing from happening. It might be something to look into for the shop, actually.

“Yeah, I know, garish, right?” she said. Damn it! He had almost been able to distract himself from her attire! He did not know where to look since both her top, a small shirt with much-too-short-almost-nonexistent sleeves, and her bottom, some sort of loose underwear plastered with a blond man wearing a cape and a strange helmet with wings, covered almost nothing of her body! “I can only blame my laziness for it. I’ve got nothing else to wear since I, lazy butt that I am, stupidly didn’t do my laundry this morning.”

George slowly nodded as if his mind was able to process anything other than the vision standing just a few paces in front of him. He had never seen so much skin on a young woman other than in intimate situations!

“Believe me, I wouldn’t wear these together!” she continued. Either she was completely oblivious to his reaction or was secretly delighting in it. “As if I would wear my wicked Ragnarok tank top, got it at their last concert, with this! But these Thor boxers were a gift from a friend so I’d feel bad if I didn’t wear them, you know? Still, they are a bit flashy.” She stopped talking, and puckered her lips a bit while gazing at him from head to toe. George whimpered silently. “I’ve got nothing for you to sleep in though. I do hope you’re not the commando style… then again I wouldn’t complain much,” she mumbled.

He had no idea what a ‘commando style’ was and he was not sure he wanted to ask her about it. It was a good thing his stomach decided to loudly make itself known.

“Sorry,” he laughed feebly. “I haven’t had much to eat today. Actually, I think the cake was the only thing I noshed on.” She crossed her arms over her chest with a tsking noise.

“Didn’t I tell you to heat up the leftover pasta if you were hungry?” she told him opening a cupboard. Diverse food stuffs were found inside, a cold air breezing out of it. “You wanna something to drink with that, honey? I’ve got beer, OJ, milk… oooh! I still got wine! I thought I had finished it last night!”

“I wouldn’t mind a cup of tea, actually.”

“Alright. Mind putting the kettle on while I nuke the pasta?”

George was not altogether without knowledge. He knew what a kettle was, obviously. Putting it on though was an unknown concept to him. He did not think Muggles waved a wand. His confusion must have shown for Sam frowned before chuckling.

“You look like a rattlesnake who misplaced his rattle! Just go sit on the sofa. I’ll have everything prepared in a minute.” He watched her go about. It was fascinating to see her do all she did without magic. He well understood his father’s fascination with Muggles. Naturally, the fact she was not wearing much might have contributed largely to his intense observation.

When she was done doing whatever it was she had done, he had a hot plate filled with the most wonderfully smelling dish. Still, he carefully looked at it.

“Don’t worry, honey, it’s perfectly safe to eat,” she told him. “I’m a fairly good cook, I’ll have you know.”

“Oh I’m sure you are but I seem to remember a certain piece of cake not too long ago.” She slapped him lightly on the shoulder. He was coming to like that little habit of hers.

“That was in retaliation, nothing more.” She bent down, grabbed his fork and took a bit of the meal. “See? Perfectly safe and so very good, if I may say so myself. Eat up while I prepare my bed.”

George almost choked on his bite when he saw her do something to the empty bookcase. It actually swung down and lo! There was a bed! It was completely ingenuous! It took him a moment longer to realise that she would be sleeping less than a few feet away from him.

He finished eating while she busied herself around the small room. By the time he put his plate and empty tea cup in the sink, and made use of the washroom, the sofa had a fluffy pillow and a warm blanket.

“Is there someone you want to call?” she asked him sitting cross-legged on the bed while brushing her long hair. “Perhaps letting your family know you’re fine?”

He slowly shook his head. There did not seem to be a fireplace and he suspected she did not keep any Floo powder on hand. Any other methods of communicating he knew would probably have her run away screaming. His mother would know he was safe through the family clock at the very least… or he hoped so. He wondered what that damn clock showed right now.

“Alright then. Good night, George.”

“Night, Sam,” he whispered in reply.

He laid down on the sofa, an arm thrown over his head. He listened as Sam settled in her bed, his eyes gazing at the ceiling. His mind was swinging from thinking of Fred to fantasising about Sam. Whimpering silently as to where his overabundant imagination was taking him, he turned to his side only to sit up at having something poke him. His hand delved between the sofa cushion and came up with something lacy. There was enough light filtering from the street lamps to clearly show him what he was holding. He almost threw the object away. The very last thing he needed was to know Sam wore bright purple underwear!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ragnarok is a Norwegian Black Metal band that has been active in the music industry since 1994. Their style is not for everyone but... never said Sam wasn't peculiar. lol
> 
> It was the only way I could find to bring about the Thor Ragnarok prompt.


	4. Chapter 4

### Chapter Three : This Is My World

  
It usually took Sam less than a few minutes to fall asleep especially after a long day at work. But that much beloved ability had ran out the door leaving her constantly turning in bed unable to find a comfortable position. The last time she had looked at her watch, it had been well over three in the morning, dawn soon to make a most unwanted appearance. It was a good thing the Apostasy was closed on Sunday.

She knew why she was having a hard time finding her rest. Her mind kept thinking about the man sleeping on her sofa. It was not like she had never been attracted to other guys, far from it. She was a lively young woman with healthy desires.

Still, none of them had ever affected her the way George did. She had never believed in the fabled love at first sight, lust yes, love no, and there lay the problem. She was physically attracted to him, extremely so even, but she also enjoyed simply chatting with him. If she was staying in London for a long period of time she would not have minded to see where it could lead but it was not the case.

Letting out a soft growl of frustration, she turned on her back and threw the pillow over her head. Perhaps by smothering herself she would finally find her rest and hopefully stop thinking about the young man sleeping on the sofa. Nevertheless, her mind, being the traitorous creature that it was, kept wondering what he looked like in rest.

She sat up in bed. She would not find sleep with such thoughts running through her mind. The best thing was to satisfy her curiosity. Granted, it was a creepy thing to do but she was tired and wanted nothing more than to sleep.

Sam inched to the foot of her bed. She was glad the curtains were opened since the street lights filtered through enough to be able to see without having to open the lamps. George was sleeping on his back, an arm resting over his head, his red hair tousled looking. In sleep, he looked even cuter though his unbuttoned shirt gave him a roguish look. It was a heady combination. She could not see if he still wore his pants since the blanket covered his lower body.

Now that her curiosity was satisfied, she should go back to seek her own rest but her body seemed unwilling to move. She really was the lowest of creeps. She had brought George here to give him somewhere to sleep, to help prevent him from doing something drastic and here she was acting like a damn predator!

Disgusted with herself, she turned her back to the tempting sight and went back to bed only to stop when she heard him whimper softly. All naughty thoughts vanished. She jumped out of bed and knelt beside the sofa. George had started to thrash in sleep as if he was caught in a nightmare.

“Shhh, it’s alright, honey, I’m right here,” she whispered, her hand lightly stroking his head. Letting out a shout, he sat straight up while tightly grabbing her wrist, a strange stick held in his other hand.

“Shit, I’m so sorry, Sam!” he gasped putting the stick on the floor beside the sofa before raking his hand through his hair. He did not release her hand though his thumb gently stroked her wrist. There was such a look of agony on his face that Sam acted on impulse. Her free hand cupped his cheek and, giving him more than enough time to move away, she brought her face close to his until their lips barely brushed.

She felt more than heard his sharp breath intake and would have moved away had he not pulled on her wrist, his other hand grabbed the back of her head. Next thing she knew, she was laying on top of him as they passionately kissed, her hands parting his unbuttoned shirt while his travelled underneath her tank top. Things between them were heating up to scorching level but, unfortunately, that was when her conscience kicked in. It was exactly the sort of situation she had not wanted to happen. She sat up and put a restraining hand on his chest.

“It’d be best if we stop,” she whispered although her resolve almost dissolved at the pained expression. She caressed his cheek. “Oh honey. It’s not what you think. In normal circumstances, I’d be all over you like white on rice but I’m here only for a brief time. I’m already pushing the whole visa thing. I’m surprised I haven’t been reported and deported yet. No matter what movies say, long distance relationship just don’t work.”

Sam had expected some sort of reaction but having George laugh had not been one. She failed to see the humour in the situation.

“You talk as if it’d be hard for us to see each other,” he said.

“Honey, it’s an 11 hour flight with one stop and good wind in the ass! Plus the plane tickets cost a lot of money. Even if we could manage it, we’d see each other maybe once or twice per year. What sort of relationship is that?!”

He stopped chuckling and gazed at her deeply before sitting up and taking her hands in his. He looked oddly determined.

“What if I was to tell you it’d be possible to see each others despite the distance? It wouldn’t be easy but not impossible.”

“Don’t tell me! You’ve got a teleportation pod stashed somewhere!” she gasped in mock surprise. “Come on, honey, don’t joke about this, please. I’m trying to spare us some bad heartache down the road. I’m a country gal, if there’s one thing our music does good, it’s singing about the agony of heartbreak.”

He released one of her hands to softly trace the curve of her cheek, his lips claiming hers briefly before he bent his head so he could whisper in her ear.

“I’m a wizard.”

It was her turn to laugh. It was the strangest explanation she had ever been given. If nothing, she had to give him points for originality. No wonder she was so into him after only a few hours.

“So I guess I wasn’t too far off with the whole teleportation thing, huh! So, are you more a David Copperfield or a Chris Angel sort of magician? Can you make the London Bridge disappear?” She saw him grab the stick he had put on the floor and lift it in the air.

“Lumos,” he said. As if he had flicked a switch, the tip of the stick light up brightly.

It was a neat trick but no tangible proof of anything. After all, novelty flashlights were not uncommon. She told him as much. It only made him growl in exasperation. He stood up and pulled her on her feet, one arm holding her tightly against him.

“Just promise me you won’t be scared of me,” he begged softly.

Before Sam could ask him what he meant by that, he impossibly twisted though without actually moving. At least she did not think he had but her vision had blacked out, dizziness blasting through her. She felt as if she had been poured into a much too small pleather suit, the oxygen in her lungs painfully squeezed out.

The uncomfortable sensation lasted only for a few heartbeat. Her head was still feeling woozy which made her her grab onto George tightly, her eyes shut, her breaths uneven. She felt as if she had run a long distance. It was a wonder she was not puking though her stomach seemed more than willing to expel its content.

“You can open your eyes now,” she heard him whisper. For some odd reasons, she was reluctant in doing so. Something was wrong, the smell of her apartment unusual. Slowly, she opened her eyes. They were standing in a strange room, multiple bright purple and orange boxes stacked in one corner, a broom like none she had ever seen in her life tucked in another while a long banner depicting a lion with the name ‘Gryffindor’ hung on a wall between two floor-to-ceiling multi-coloured window panes. “Welcome to my place.”  
  
So far Sam was not screaming which was promising. She was, however, holding on to him so fiercely it was a wonder she had not ripped his shirt. George had taken quite a risk in doing a Side-Along Apparition especially since she was a Muggle. Still, the distance was not far and there was nowhere he knew better than his own apartment above the store.

He knew there would be repercussions in telling her the truth about himself but he did not care. He had not felt so much like his old self as when he was with Sam and it was a feeling he was not about to lose without a fight, not this time!

He pulled her tighter against his chest and breathed a silent sigh of relief when she did not resist. The dark thoughts that always plagued him whenever he was in his place were nowhere to be found and all because of the girl he held. He laid a soft kiss on her temple once more marvelling at the fact she would ever be interested in him.

“George,” he heard her whisper. “How… what… how?!”

Though his mind, and his body, had other things they would have preferred doing, especially since she was still wearing her odd revealing clothes, George knew it was a conversation they could not avoid. Bringing her here had not been subtle in the least. He guided her to the sofa and sat her down while he opted to crouch in front of her.

“Like I told you, I’m a wizard.” She slowly blinked, her blue eyes fixed on him. “Simply put, magic exists. We, wizards and witches, live amongst you Muggles—”

“What did you just call me?! I swear, George Weasley, if that term is offensive, I’ll string you to a tree by your balls!” He grabbed her hands and kissed them. It seemed to mollify her. She probably would make a dragon fly away in fear with how fiery she could become.

“No, it’s not a bad thing. It’s just the name we give non-magical people like you, honest! I’d never call you something bad, sunshine.”

“I quite like you calling me that, honey. Sunshine, not the other thing. I’d love to know why you think that pet name suits me,” she whispered. “But first things first!” she quickly added forcefully. “Is this just a UK thing? Wizards I mean?”

“No, there are wizarding communities everywhere in the world. We’re really not all that different from you, I guess. We go to school—”

“Really? Like elementary and high school? Do you guys have different schools than us?”

“Most of us who are born out of wizarding families are taught at home until we’re eleven years old. Then we go to the appropriate school. For us here, that’s Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“What do you mean by ‘us who are born out of wizarding families’? Are there wizards from normal… I mean, none-magical families?”

“Naturally,” he replied. That only made her frown.

“But how do they know they’re wizards or witches then?”

“They come into their magics when they’re children. As soon as that happens, the Ministry dispatches someone to talk to the family and make the necessary arrangements.”

“Wait! Did you say Ministry? You guys have a governing body?”

“Of course!”

“Wow… I mean… wow! That’s a lot to take in. Did a hurricane pick us up and drop us in Oz?” She stopped and gazed at him for a moment in silence. “Say, if I throw some water on you, are you going to melt?” It was George’s turn to be confused. It was a good thing he was getting used to it with her. She often said the damnedest things. “Well, the way I see it, having magic isn’t all that convenient.”

“How so? Sam, I can do pretty much everything with a wave of my wand!” he chuckled.

“Uh huh and what happens if you can’t use it? If you can’t do magic? Honey, you did not seem to know how to do the simplest of things, mainly boiling water. If I dropped you in the middle of the Nevada desert without your piece of stick you wouldn’t know what to do. So no, magic ain’t the cat’s meow at all in term of having survival instincts.”

He inched closer to her until their faces were a mere breadth apart.

“Well, I’m more than willing to learn if you’d teach me,” he whispered.

“Best be careful what you wished for, honey. I could take it as referring to something else entirely.”

“What makes you think I wasn’t meaning exactly that?”

“What you said before, about us being able to see each others no matter where we both lived. Was that true?” she asked, her voice devoid of any teasing.

“Like I said, it’d be hard but doable. I mean, as long as you’ve got a fireplace, it’d be possible to connect it to the Floo Network. Meaning I could travel back and forth between our places whenever I wan—”

He had not even finished talking that she was kissing him, her hands once more travelling underneath his opened shirt, their touch on his skin making him growl softly. He soon found himself lying on the floor with Sam straddling him, her blond hair framing her beautiful face.

“I’m not into one night stands, George,” she said. “And as crazy as all this is, you being a wizard and all, I want to see where this thing between us can take us. But best be warned, I can be downright weird when I want to. Most guys I’ve known couldn’t deal with it.” He lifted his head and kissed her briefly.

“I wouldn't have you any other way than weird, sunshine,” he told her. “I could tell you stories about the diverse mischiefs Fred and I got into that would make you look the tamest person in the world in comparison.”

“Oh I will definitely want to hear all about it.” She stopped and gently caressed his cheek. “I want to know everything about you but also about Fred,” she added hesitantly. George lifted himself on his elbow so he could rest his forehead on hers.

“I’d like that,” he whispered.

The smile she gave him was so bright it truly could rival the sun. He twisted upon himself until he laid on top of her, his mouth claiming hers, one hand framing the side of her face while the other caressed its way under her shirt. No magic was needed between them, none used to remove their clothes. He was utterly lost the moment she raked her nails down his back; the way she looked as they made love more potent then the shop’s WonderWitch Love Potion.

There was still pain whenever he thought of Fred, a pain he knew would probably never leave but it was less sharp, less consuming than it had been that very morning. He had left the store all those hours ago intent to end this pain but, instead, he had met the most wonderful girl. 

  


  
For a moment Sam thought she was caught in some sort of crazy kaleidoscope, a myriad of colours filtering through her closed eyelids. If it was not for the fact her head was resting on George's chest, his hand lightly caressing her hip, she would have convinced herself she had dreamt the entire thing. She snuggled closer.

“What time is it?” she asked letting out a sigh of contentment. She was feeling sore in all the right places. They were still on the floor but George had at least had the good sense to conjure up the softest pillows she had ever seen. Maybe magic had some uses after all.

“It’s barely morning,” he replied. There was a definite hesitation to his voice. She lifted herself on an elbow to look at him. “Sam… we need to talk.” Sam knew what sort of chat he wanted to have. Wizards or not, men were all the darn same it seemed! She would most probably not be able to do any magic but she certainly could take his wand and ram it deep somewhere he certainly would not find comfortable!

“Oh?” she said instead. “What you want to ‘talk’ about, George?” If he caught on her frigid tone of voice, he disregarded it.

“There could be repercussions to us being together.” Her anger completely abated. So it was not going to be ‘it was fun, I’ll call you, promise’ sort of talk.

“Come on, honey. Don’t you know by now that you can tell me anything?”

“Yeah. I’m still amazed at how you’ve just accepted me being a wizard,” he chuckled.

“Well it’s kinda hard to dismiss it as you being two sandwiches short of a picnic after you bringing me here the way you did,” she told him. “Now I know I can come up with pretty far-out ideas, some of them crazy as all heck, but I’m not so creative to invent this whole thing and I know I’m not dreaming ‘cause if I was, I wouldn’t be hurting in a certain place right now.” It was so fun to see him blush madly. He was so darn cute!

“All I’m saying is that I broke the law by telling you about me, about the wizarding world.”

She got up and walked to the tall windows, the morning sunlight breaking into multiple of colours. It was a breathtaking sight but her mind was occupied with what George had told her.

“In how much shit are you in, honey? And please, I want the truth.” The room was silent for a moment.

“They could break my wand or worst, send me to Azkaban,” he finally answered. By the tremor in his voice, Sam could only imagine how bad the place was. Somehow she guessed it was not the type of prisons she knew.

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She had always been the one to get into trouble and the way she usually got out of trouble usually always got her into even more trouble.

“Honey, if you knew the consequences, why did you tell me?” she whispered. She did not have to look to know he had come to stand behind her, his arms embracing her, his lips lightly kissing her right shoulder.

“Because… because you’re the one good thing that has happened to me since Fred’s death, Sam. Because, like you, I want to see where this will take us. Because I’m already halfway in love with you.”

She turned and deeply kissed him before framing his face with her hands.

“I don’t know what I can do against damn wizards but let them try to mess with this Texas gal! I’ll knock them plump into next week, just you watch me!” She was rewarded with a chuckle, the look of apprehension being replaced by a wicked gleam.

“And I’m sure you would before they could even know what hit them. You know what, sunshine, you’re right! Let them try! I’ve never really followed the rules. I’m not about to start now. And the Ministry owes my family for everything we did during the war—”

“Whoa! Back up there, bucko! What war? Unless I missed some important piece of news, there hasn’t been a war recently. At last not in this part of the world.”

“It’s a long story and if you’re to understand it, I’ll have to tell it from the beginning. Not that I mind the way you look right now, sunshine, but perhaps we should put some clothes on first?” She gave him a saucy wink.

“Awww,” she cooed. “And have you miss the opportunity of having me make you breakfast wearing nothing but an apron?” Something about that scenario suddenly nagged at her. She wracked her brain until it finally caught on. If she had a light bulb over her head, it would have flicked on. “Wait a minute! Where’s the stove? You _do_ have one, right? I will not function well somewhere without a stove, honey! One can _not_ make proper grits without a stove!” 

  


  
The breakfast George had somehow conjured up stood untouched on the small table in front of the sofa, the cup of what-looked-like-but-did-not-taste-like coffee left aside after only a sip. Sam’s mind was reeling by what she had learnt, her hunger forgotten. It was one thing to accept the existence of magical people, quite another to believe a big war had been fought without the rest of the world’s population knowing.

“But surely some things were noticed! You said yourself that the battles had not only been confined to your school,” she argued for the nth time.

“They were overlooked as being something else,” he patiently explained.

“But George! Werewolves, giants, dementeds—”

“Dementors,” he corrected her.

“Whatever. Those you can’t just go ‘Oh look! Puppies, basketball players, and Goths are hanging around!’ I just find that hard to believe. And that Vladimir—”

“Voldemort.”

“What _ever_! That Fidel Castro wannabe if you prefer. He should have attacked the US. We know how to deal with communists! See? That would never have happened if y’all had a good shotgun nearby.”

“Sunshine, remember magic? What could a shotgun do against a wizard, especially one so well versed in the dark arts?” She resisted the urge to hit him with a blindingly bright orange cushion. Instead, she cocked an eyebrow and gave him her best ‘I am not impressed’ look.

“So I guess when you told me Fred had had an accident, it hadn’t been quite the truth. He died during that war, didn’t he?” she asked softly.

George sighed grimly before nodding. Sam put her arms around him and rested her head on his shoulder. It was not much but she hoped he could derive some comfort from it. After a moment, his own arms embraced her, his lips laying a light kiss on her temple.

“Yes, Fred was killed on the last battle.” He stopped and she felt him take a deep breath. “We knew the situation was dire and yet even then we didn’t take it quite so seriously. We thought we were invincible.” He fell silent once more. Sam did not rush him. All she could do was hold him as he shuddered most probably caught in the memory of that war. “He paid with his life while all I got was a missing ear. It was lobbed off magically, a curse, a stupid dumb accident too. Nothing can be done… not that I care much about it. Do you… care about it, I mean?”

She lifted her head and cupped the left side of his face.

“Now why should I care if there’s a little bit of you missing, honey?” she asked. “I don’t give a fig about looks. A lot of people see me as nothing but blond bimbo, a stupid one to boot because of my Texan accent. The numbers of time some arsehole called me a dumb redneck of a blond. So no, I don't care about looks, especially not yours. And really, all the important bits are still there.”

That last actually made him chuckle, the dreary atmosphere lifting.

“So!” she said after a while. “Giant, werewolves, dementias. Anything else I need to look out for?”

“Though magical creatures are wide and varied, from unicorns to bowtruckle, I’d say the only thing you should be concerned with are Acromantulas.”

“Agricultural what now?”

“Acromantula. They are spiders. Big, hairy, ugly spiders. They drop down from trees—” This time, Sam did not resist the temptation. She hit him with the cushion.

“I swear, George Weasley! If you’re pulling my leg on that one to make me scared, I will rip your other ear off and proudly wear it on a necklace!”

The fact the dratted man was laughing did not help much. She hit him a second and a third time. Before she could swing it a fourth, the cushion flew from her hands, George holding his wand, a cocky grin on his lips.

“Come on, sunshine, you can’t beat me so easily. I’m a wiza—”

Her lips effectively silenced him, her hands pushing him down on the sofa until she straddled him. She nuzzled his neck until she could whisper in his ear.

“Oh honey, I don’t need magic to bring you down.”

“Mmmm… I may need a thorough demonstr—”

“Blimey, George! Where have you been?! Mum’s franti— Errr. Am I interrupting something?”

Sam barely had time to see a young man, a very ginger young man, before hearing a deafening sound akin thunder. The newcomer flew back several paces only to fall hard on his butt.

“What…?! Did you just use the Flipendo spell on me? I’m an Auror or have you forgotten that little fact?”

George sat up with a low hiss, his wand in hand. He flicked it, a blanket impossibly flying to where they were. She would never get used to it. It would have been so much simpler, and less flashy, to get up and get it.

As soon as he grabbed it, he pulled it around her. She rolled her eyes at the gesture. Granted, he had been in the process of pulling her top off but she was not naked, far from it, though she was not all too keen on having many people see her colourful Thor Boxers.

“Auror or not, I can still easily out-spell you, Ron, so don’t push your luck! And yeah, you are interrupting!”

“Well sorry but we’ve been worried!” the young man growled getting back up and dusting his long dark robes. They were kind of cool in a Goth way. She would not mind wearing something similar. “You left me in the store yesterday to get something to eat but you never came back. Then mum arrived. She was hysterical. The clock showed you were in danger. I had to send for dad to calm her. When we finally got her back to the house, the clock showed you were lost. It’s only since a few hours that it finally got to home. Mum was all ready to come but I convinced her to stay home for now. What the hell happened? But more importantly, who’s she?”

Sam decided to take the matters in hands since George seemed to want nothing more than to do whatever he had already done to the young man.

“Hi! I’m Samantha-Jean Davis but you can call me Sam. Unless I heard wrong, I gather your name’s Ron?” she asked trying her best to get up and not fall on her face due to being uncombed by the ridiculous blanket. She stopped and cocked her head. “Say, are y’all wizards redheads cause if so, that’d explain a whole lot about the crazy myths floating around.”

She heard a curse — a normal one or so she hoped — before being pulled back, George standing protectively in front of her with such an intense look, a shiver ran down her spine. He had his wand steadily in front of him and pointed towards the young man who also had his out. Could they not be like other guys and just measure them or something?

“George! A Muggle! Here! You—you broke the law! My own brother! What were you thinking?!”

And once again, her big mouth had been her undoing. She was about to be blasted to smithereens by the brother of her lover. By a damn ginger! Oh well, life lesson!  
  
The intensity of the protectiveness he felt took George by surprise. Still, he would not let anyone threaten Sam, not even his younger brother. People, his family included most probably, would not understand how he could feel so deeply for someone he had known for barely a day. He did not even understand it himself but he did not care. No one would take what he had with her just because she was a Muggle.

“Stand down, Ron,” he growled, his brother clearly confused.

“George this isn’t school. There’ll be repercussions for what you did. The Ministry’ll have to Obliviate her while you—”

“Now wait a danged moment! No one’ll obliterate me!” Sam piped up from behind him. He did not need to turn to know she was standing tall with her hands on her hips looking like an avenging goddess warrior. Alright, the latter was probably a depiction of his own fantasy.

“Not obliterate, obliv— ah what’s the use.”

“Well, you see, miss Davis, Muggl—” Ron tried to say. George could have told his brother not to bother.

“Oh don’t you ‘miss Davis’ me! I’m in a horn-tossing mood and your little stick of wood won’t stop me from cleaning your plow!”

Ron turned his gaze to him. All George could do was shrug his shoulders. He did not understand Sam half the time. Still, she was damn cute when she was riled up. Too bad for his brother, it looked like she was was building some steam.

“And let me tell you what I think about your dumb anti-Muggle law! It’s racist!”

“Muggle isn’t a race—”

“Shush! I ain’t done talking, boy! And another thing! If you think I’ll stand by and let you punish George for being with me, I’ll whip you like a redheaded stepchild. Oh yeah, I went there!”

Without taking his eyes from his brother, he pulled her to his side and kissed her temple. No, he could not explain it even to himself. All he knew was that he would not be able to stand not having her in his life. For the first time in two years, he could breathe without feeling like his lungs were encased in ice.

“If I have to, I’ll break my own damn wand but I won’t give up Sam,” he said. He had never seen Ron look so stricken. “Yeah, I’d give up magic before giving her up.”

“Wait, what?” Sam asked clearly confused, the anger fading from her stance. Her hand caressed the left side of his face. “Oh honey, you can’t do that! You can’t even boil water! Heck, I’m sure you don’t even know you’ve got to separate whites from colours.”

“Are you crazy? You want mum to destroy the entire Ministry? There’s no way she’ll lose you, not in this manner or any other sort of,” Ron said shaking his head while lowering his wand. After a moment, he did the same. “This is rightly a pickle we’re in. Do you mind if I send a message to Hermione? If there’s anyone who can find a solution, it’d be her.”

“Sure. Just let me remove the charm on the fireplace. Mum convinced Fred to connect it to the Floo Network when we moved here but we didn’t want her to come whenever she pleased. Never knew if she’d be interrupting something.” His brother blushed but thankfully kept his mouth shut.

“Honey—” He lifted a hand to stop her so he could quickly remove the protective charm set on the fireplace.

Ron was right, Hermione would be able to help them out. Well, after nagging them until their ears bled though it would pale with the tongue lashing he would get from his mother. He was not worried about his father. If there was one thing Arthur Weasley was known for, it was his obsession with anything connected to Muggles. Sam would probably prove to be a fountain of knowledge if his father ever was able to understand what she was saying.

Putting his wand away, he finally turned to Sam but his face was smacked with one of the brightly orange cushions. For such a small girl, she packed quite a wallop. She would have probably been a great beater. He was so glad to have stowed his and Fred’s Quidditch equipment.

“I. Will. Not. Let. You. Give. Up. Your. Magic!” she growled, each words emphasised by a hit of the cushion. She truly was cute when she was angry, more dangerous than a Death Eater for sure, but cute nonetheless. She had no idea how perfect she was for him. “I swear, George Weasle—EEEEK! There’s a head in the fireplace! A HEAD!”

“George! There’a a Muggle in your place! A Muggle!” Hermione Granger exclaimed through the fireplace. It was truly a wonder Sam had not yet run away from him.


	5. Chapter 5

### Chapter Four : The Cowgirl And The Coyote

  
Sam had been pleasantly surprised to learn that Hermione had lived as a Muggle until she had discovered she was a witch. It made her feel slightly less alone to have someone who knew about how to live without magic. She realised her brain had not yet fully caught on everything that had happened, everything she had learnt. Still, one look at George and all the doubts she could feel vanished. It just felt so darn right. However, she would rip him a new one if he ever talked about abandoning his magic! That did not mean she would kindly take to having her memories messed with either. Her head was already a frightening place, she certainly did not need wizards to poke about in it!

“Did you do any magic in front of Sam before bringing her here?” the young witch asked. She so hated being talked about as if she was not there.

“I may have cursed someone back at the bar—”

“Oh! So that’s what happened to the creep! Good one!” she laughed remembering the incident in question.

“Then a simple sweeping spell—”

“Seriously, honey! A broom would have been just as effective! I swear!”

“Then the lighting spell. It didn’t impress her, I admit. Finally, I brought her here,” George finished explaining.

“I’m surprise the Ministry didn’t catch on. Then again, we’re still dealing with the whole mess with You-Know-Who,” Ron sighed.

“No, who?” Sam asked.

“Beg pardon?”

“You said ‘you know who’. Sorry to say, I’ve got no idea who you’re talking about so no, I don’t know who.”

“Give it up. There’s no use trying to win a verbal battle with Sam,” George laughed. “Alright, so we contacted everyone but Harry? Where’s he by the way?”

“He’s probably lost in his research about Dumbledore’s youth or something like that. I’ll grab him on the way to the house, don’t worry.”

The plan the non-Muggle ones had come up with was to bring her to the Weasleys’ house for supper not only unannounced but without telling their parents about the fact she was as normal a girl as plain pudding.

Somehow, Sam predicted it would be a catastrophe.

“I’ll just pop real quick to your place so I can grab you some clothes. Anything in particular, sunshine?” George asked her.

“Hmmm. I think my off-white dress would be suitable. My pair of cowboy boots is a must. There’s a small box on my night table with my jewelry. Bring that. Also my makeup bag. It’s in the bathroom. Can’t miss it. It looks like a cow.” She stopped and gave him her sweetest of smiles. “And don’t forget to grab me a bra. The purple one. You know which I’m talking about. And don't forget the matching thong. Thank you, honey.”

His bright red face was the last thing she saw before he literally went ‘poof’ with a sound akin a truck backfiring. She did not understand why she simply could not walk back home. By what she gathered, this Diagon Alley was not too far away from the London Bridge. Nevertheless, her new magical friends had been loudly against the idea. Granted, there was no true way for wizards to know she was a Muggle but Sam had more than proved she simply could not pass off as one of them. Her mouth tended to run away without consulting her brain.

“I wanted to thank you,” Hermione said as soon as they were alone.

“Whatever for?”

“I haven’t seen George smile since that dreadful night. I know his family didn’t make the connection but when his clock hand pointed to Mortal Peril… he was about to commit suicide, wasn’t he?”

She debated for a moment before slowly nodding.

“I believe so. I don’t know why he stopped at the bar instead but I’m glad he did. George’s a great guy.”

“That he is. Just be careful in accepting anything he gives you. He’s… _somewhat_ of a prankster,” the young witch laughed. Sam cocked an eyebrow.

“Oh sugar, believe me when I say he’s an amateur.”

The words were barely out of her mouth that George appeared in front of them, her things held in one arm while he cradled his right hand against his chest.

“Why was there a mousetrap in your drawers?!” he asked.

“Why to stop perverts from going through my intimate things, honey,” she answered sweetly.

“But you asked me to bring you your… intimates!”

“I know.” He threw her clothes on the sofa with a hiss.

“You’re devious,” he growled. Sam barely noticed Hermione going to the fireplace with a knowing smile on her face. In a flash of green, this one was gone.

“Didn’t I warn you, honey?” She pushed him until he was against the wall. “So? What are you going to do about it?”

The wicked smile appearing on his lips made her heart flip in her chest. She barely had time to draw in a breath that he was passionately kissing her. In an instant, she was the one against the wall, his hands travelling under her top. It seemed he was intent on continuing what they had been doing before they had been so rudely interrupted.

“We’ll be late for supper,” she whispered.

“Don’t care.”

“But what if your broth—”

He lifted his head, growled something under his breath while waving his wand about.

“There! Now no one will interrupt us without deeply regretting it.”

Once more Sam had to admit that, in some cases, magic was useful. Naturally, she would never tell George that. 

  


  
George did not need to be an ace at divination to know Sam was stressed. The sheer numbers of time she had brushed her dress as if trying to get rid of nonexistent wrinkles a clear indication of her state of mind. Naturally, the biggest clue was the fact she had not said one word since they had left his place other than a squeaked ‘fee-fi-fo-fum’ when Hagrid had briefly stopped by to bring him his flying motorbike. Since then, not a peep.

Perhaps using the motorbike had been a bad idea. Could it have prove too much for her? He had thought it a good idea when Hermione had suggested it. He had not wanted to risk doing a long distance Apparition with Sam. Too many things could have gone wrong. Having her use Floo powder had been out of the question, and there had not been enough time to have a Portkey made, let alone without having the Ministry know about it.

“Sam,” he said. “You look beautiful. No, you _are_ beautiful.” And she was. It had been one of the first things he had noticed about her but now, well now she was so much more. “There’s a reason why I call you ‘sunshine’ and it’s not because you’re blond. It’s a bit corny but, well, before I met you, my world was dark and now it’s not.”

She parted her lips but he lifted a hand to stop her. He did not know if his plan would work. He did not know if, at the end of the evening, he would still be a part of the wizarding community. So he wanted Sam to understand where he stood concerning her.

He took a deep breath. He had never felt this anxious before, he who had more than once openly defied authorities, had constantly pushed the boundaries. He was utterly nervous.

He grabbed both her hands and gazed deeply into her eyes.

“When I met you, I was fast sinking into depression. I—” He stopped and closed his eyes. He felt her hands slip from his grasp to go around his neck. She pulled his head down slightly until their foreheads touched.

“You can tell me anything, honey, you know that,” she whispered.

“Why isn’t a girl like you already spoken for?” he chuckled.

“Well now! I thought I was or did I imagine the last few hours?”

“Yesterday I was actually intent on throwing myself off the London Bridge after chucking my wand away. Yes, I wanted to kill myself.” He waited for her speak up but she kept her silence. “But for some reasons, I ended up meeting you and you’ve turned my whole world upside down. Do you remember you telling me to find twenty reasons to live?”

“Yes, I remember,” she replied after a moment.

“What I’m trying to say is that I didn’t need twenty. I just needed one. You.”

George was afraid to open his eyes when she took a step back, scared to see the look on her face at his confession. He had not come out and said the words but the intent was still the same.

“It’s the same for me, honey,” he heard her whisper before her hand lightly cupped the left side of his face. He slowly opened his eyes, the look in hers making his breath catch in his throat. “I came on this badly planned trip because I felt there was something missing in my life though I did not know what… until I met you.”

Elated, he lifted her and spun her before embracing her tightly. He was of a mind to call off the entire thing, to take her somewhere no one would be able to find them while knowing she would not agree to it. They would face this thing together. The Ministry of Magic truly stood no chance.

“Come on,” he said after a moment. “Time to meet the rest of my family. Just promise me one thing. If you feel like running away, take me with you.” The only reply he got was a slight slap to the arm. There was no use postponing it since he knew his mother’s dratted clock would have warned her he was coming.

He grabbed Sam’s hand, laced his fingers with hers, and chuckled when she closed her eyes tightly. He had brought the motorbike within walking distance to the Burrow. Knowing his mother like he did, she would have been swooping down on them before the bike’s tires would have touched the ground. He had thought to Apparate from here but the late afternoon was balmy, the sun bright and the blooming bluebells fragrant. So, he started to walk. The grateful smile Sam gave him was the best reward he had ever had. Well, almost the best.  
  
Sam was glad George had decided to walk instead of ‘poofing’ them to his parents’ house. She needed some time to steel herself for what was about to happen. She had been viewed too often as not good enough, as too weird, too redneck, too much of something. Basically, she had never been good enough for the mamas of the few boys she had dated before. At least they had all been like her, a Muggle. What would a wizard mother make of her?

“Hey, you’re alright?” she heard George ask.

She would have answered him but the weirdest house she had ever seen came into view. There were no words to describe how strange and, at the same time, amazing it was. It was as if someone had constantly added to the original structure but in a haphazardly way. It was completely magical!

“Wow… just wow,” she whispered in awe.

“Welcome to the Burro—”

“George Weasley! Where have you been?!? I was worried sick! _Sick!_ ”

Sam slipped her hand from George’s grasp and stood aside. She did not want to be in the oncoming hurricane path of what could only be his mother. She could definitely see the resemblance from the very ginger hair to the propensity to wear flashing colourful clothes. She demurely crossed her hands in front of her and fervently hoped she would not make a bad first impression.

Perhaps she should have left her hair loose instead of braiding them. Also although her dress was pretty, the fact she was wearing her cowboy boots screamed redneck. Even her few jewelry showed she was a country bumpkin with their predominant silver and turquoise colour. It was not the fact she was a Muggle that would trouble George’s mother but that she was nothing but a farmer’s daughter of a redneck.

“Mum—”

“Have you any idea?! The clock showed you were in Mortal Peril! In _Mortal Peril_ , George! You weren’t at your store! Your brother didn’t know where you were! I was worri—”

“MUM!” George shouted effectively stopping his mother in mid-sentence. “I want you to meet someone.” Sam’s heart dropped to the bottom of her stomach when the woman finally turned her attention to her. “This is Samantha-Jean Davis. My… well, my girlfriend.”

“Howdy—” She snapped her mouth shut. Of all the dumb things that could come out of her mouth! “I mean, how do you do, ma’am.”

“Oh my goodness! I had no idea… I’m so sorry, dear. I hope I didn’t frighten you too much. I was just worried about George.”

“I completely understand, ma’am.” So far so good.

“I’m Molly, Molly Weasley, George’s mother. Welcome, dear,” the woman said with a warm smile. “You aren’t from here, aren’t you. American?”

“Yes, ma’am. Born and raised in the great state of Texas,” she answered.

“Ah! I haven’t seen someone from Ilvermorny in years.”

“Liver what now?” Sam was confused.

“Ilvermorny is the magic school in America,” George explained. grasping her hand and lifting it to kiss it before turning to his mother. “Sam didn’t attend Ilvermorny, mum. She’s a Muggle.” And the cat was out of the bag.

“A—A Muggle?! George! A MUGGLE?!? Arthur! ARTHUR! Your son brought a Muggle!”

“Actually I prefer being called Sam or Samantha,” she lamely whispered.

“Mum, calm down,” George growled but his mother did not seem inclined on listening.

“What’s going on?” the man coming out of the house asked. If Sam had not already met Hermione, she would have truly believe all wizards were ginger!

“Your son brought a Muggle! Here!” At least she was not looked on as a redneck though she was not sure it was much better.

“Did he now? Molly must mean you. Hello. I’m Arthur Weasley. George, how did you bring her?”

“I borrowed Hagrid’s motorbike.”

“Did you really? I hope you weren’t too scared, miss…?”

“Sam, Samantha-Jean Davis, sir. And no, not too scared. Actually, it was quite pleasant compared to being poofed,” she said with a hesitant smile.

“She means travelling by Apparition, dad,” George quickly explained.

“You did a side-along Apparition! Truly! How did you feel? I’ve never read any accounts of a Muggle going through it.”

“Arthur!”

“Yes dear?”

“Your son broke the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy and the only thing you’re interested in is knowing how young Samantha here felt?! Where are your priority?” The woman turned to her with a smile. “Naturally, I don’t blame you, dear. But you must understand what’s at stake here.”

“We both know, mum, and we don’t care,” George said completely serious.

“Let the Ministry come and try to do something about it,” a newcomer piped up, numerous people coming out of the house. “Hey George. Sorry, we were caught by surprise. Mum just vanished. Told you we should have tied her up, Charlie.”

“You might have been able to get away with it, Bill. You’ve always been mum’s favourite.”

Of all the people, only three were not ginger. Forget Kansas and Oz, Sam was plump lost in Wonderland!

“This here is my older brother Bill, his wife Fleur,” George presented, the most beautiful woman smiling gently at her. “You’ve already met Ron and Hermione. That’s my sister, Ginny, and the famous Harry Potter. Well, famous for us. I don’t think his name means anything to you.”

“Nope, doesn’t ring one little bell, sorry,” she laughed.

“Hey, no worry. It’s a novel thing for me,” the young man with bespectacled green eyes replied.

“Then there’s my two other brothers, Percy and Charlie. That’s it, that’s the whole family.”

“You all knew?” Molly gasped though her husband was quick in saying that he had not. “I can’t believe this!”

“Come on, mum,” Bill said. “It’s not the end of the world. Wouldn’t be the first time nor the last. Anyway, after everything You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters did during the war, I’d wager there are a few Muggles who deduced the truth so what’s one more?” Everyone present nodded, even George’s father.

“But—”

“But nothing, mum,” George calmly rebuked. “I’m sorry. I love you and all but if the Ministry can’t accept what I’ve done, if they can’t just look the other way, then I’ll break my wand. No matter what, I’ll stay with Sam.” His mother seemed to want to continue to argue but he hissed and quickly raised his wand. He said something that sounded like gibberish to her ears, a silver mist shooting from his wand until it took form.

“Oh!” Sam exclaimed. “It’s a coyote!” The misty animal padded to were she was and sat down at her feet. There was a collective gasp. Thinking she had done or said something inappropriate, she looked up but everyone’s attention was on George. Since they were all wizards, at least she believed so, they should not seem so shocked at the nifty little spell he had done. “Is something wrong?” she asked.

“It’s my Patronus,” he softly explained. “For the last two years I’ve been unable to conjure it.” His hand briefly caressed her cheek. “You need to think about happy things to be able to produce a strong Patronus. I had none until I met you, Sam.”  
  
None other than his family knew George had been unable to conjure a Patronus since Fred’s death. It was not the lack of happy memories, far from it, but because his depression had been such that he had not been able to get past it. Until this moment, that is. Until Sam.

“Mum?” he heard Bill ask. “Where are you off to?”

He finally turned his attention from his sunshine to see his mother deliberately march back inside the house. She had the look of a woman on a mission.

“Come on, I’ll show you inside,” he said grabbing Sam’s hand. He was curious as to what his mother had planned.

“Now, dear, I’m about to make a call. Don’t be afraid,” she said as soon as they entered the house. He knew she was talking to Sam.

“A call? Oh you mean have a head float in the fireplace?” this one asked. “Don’t worry, ma’am, I’ve already seen that. Honestly, I think it’d be simpler to just use a phone.”

“About that, how do they function? How can every Muggles be connected? Who oversees it all?”

“Dad! All that can wait. Poor Sam is likely to run just to get away from all your questions, questions you could have asked Harry or Hermione anytime,” he heard Ginny admonish their father.

“Yes but she’s a really real Muggle, Ginny! One who hasn’t been influenced by magic!”

His father blessedly stopped when Shacklebolt, the Minister for Magic, finally appeared in the fireplace. George had a moment of apprehension. Was his mother turning him in? His fingers tightened around Sam’s who stepped closer to him. Her back was straight, her shoulders stiff. Somehow, he knew she would not go down without a fight. Perhaps he should have warned everyone that, though a Muggle, she could become more dangerous than a dragon, the kind even his brother Charlie had no protection against.

“Molly, a pleasant surprise—”

“My son George has told his Muggle girlfriend that he’s a wizard,” his mother said, completely dispensing with pleasantries. “I fully expect the Ministry to ignore the transgression and to allow… I seem to have forgotten your name, dear.”

“Samantha-Jean Davis,” he quickly told his mother.

“Or just Sam,” this one added.

“To allow Samantha to be a part of our community. I think the Ministry more than owe us such favour. If not then expect me to come directly to your office to discuss it further!”

“Told you so,” Ron whispered.

“No, no! There’s no need for you to make the trip all the way to the Ministry, Molly,” Shacklebolt almost screamed in panic. “I’ll see to it personally. But, if I may ask, why hasn’t George’s transgression registered? Has he not yet used magic in front of miss Davis?”

“That’s an easy answer,” George snorted. “Sam’s is totally unimpressed by magic.”

“And why should I be impressed by nothing more than shortcuts, hmm? I can’t for the life of me understand why the simplest of chores can’t be done by using some good old elbow grease, magic or not! I swear!”

“Muggle elbows produce grease?! Why haven’t we learnt of that yet?”

Sam looked at his father with obvious confusion while the rest of them opted to just groan in defeat. It was not magic that would make her run away but his family!

“Well! Now that’s settled, I’ll show you around the house, Samantha dear. The rest of you go prepare the table outside. You too, George, shoo! Out with your brothers and your sister!”

“But—”

“No buts, young man!” 

“Go on, honey. Your mother just wants to show me around. Not like she’ll go and tell me the most humiliating stories of your time as a child,” Sam cackled softly. He was doomed for the stories his mother had about his and Fred’s childhood were legendary! He would never live it down!

“Oh I quite like you, dear,” his mother cooed. Yes, he was well and truly doomed! 

  


  
George could not remember the last time they had sat down for supper in such a way since the war. Just thinking about it brought a small wave of pain. There was one person missing, one who would always be missing. A hand grabbed his from under the table, Sam giving him a soft smile. After a moment, he answered it with one of his own.

“The food is delicious, ma’am,” she told his mom.

“Please call me Molly,” this one replied before turning thunderous eyes to her youngest son and his best friend. “I just wished Ron and Harry had degnomed the garden better than they did, though.” The words were barely said that a few small heads popped out of the ground to sneer and laugh at them.

“I don’t know how y’all go about getting rid of vermin but I’ve always been partial to smacking them with a good ol’ shovel or better yet, run the lawn-mower over them. Does wonder with the snakes we have back at the farm,” Sam loudly commented while looking at the gnomes in question. “There’s more than one way to stop a dog from sucking eggs after all.”

George tried his best not to laugh when the creatures in question completely vanished from sight. If the gnomes knew what was best for them. they would pack up and move somewhere far from here.

“See? She’s even unimpressed with magical creatures. Perhaps I really should show you an Acromantula,” he cackled. “Oh, can you pass me the salt please?”

“Of course.” He took the saltshaker she was offering him. He had barely tilted it that it dumped its content all over his plate. “Oh, I forgot to warn you that the top had become unscrewed. I’m so sorry, honey,” she added with the sweetest of smile.

“You are devious,” he whispered.

“No more so than you, honey.”

A growl made them look at his brother Charlie, this one sitting with his arms crossed, a grumpy frown on his heavily freckled face.

“Well that’s just great! Everybody has someone but me! Bill has Fleur, Percy’s got Audrey, Ron has Hermione, Ginny’s with Harry and now even George has a girlfriend! It’s not fair!”

“Don't say that, Charlie. I’m sure there’s a dragon or two who’s in love with you. I mean, they must mistake your hair for fire. That’s bound to be attractive to them,” George snickered.

Everyone laughed, the atmosphere around the table festive and relaxed. He felt like he had woken up from a terrible nightmare and though he would always miss Fred, the sun continued to go up every morning. If he was lucky, he would greet it with Sam at his side for years to come. He gazed at her, a warm smile on his lips but she was sitting there with a dumbfounded look on her face, her fork stopped midway to her mouth.

“Wait, wait! You mean dragons exist? Real living fire-breathing dragons?! For real?!?!”

Oh yes, he planned on staying by her side no matter what. After all, she was his ‘twenty’ reasons.


End file.
